Me pregunto...

Cuando te carga el payaso... si, ese payaso, el más deprimente del centro; el más feo, mal oliente y mal vestido de todos; con chistes malos, una risa que haría orgulloso a satanás y cabello quemado... cuando ese payaso te carga... ¿A dónde te lleva?

Pronto lo averiguaré.

Infinity

I found a little free time, so I will write something completely different. Oh yeah, as you can see I'm back to writing in English. You see, I was reading a document... that had to deal... with... hum... I don't remember. Oh yeah! It was a chapter on a book dealing with transnational business and somewhere along the lines it mentioned that somehow English had become a "standard" when dealing with international stuff. Therefore, I decided to continue in English so I can reach a wider audience...

 

Okay... maybe I'm kidding myself; it's not like I have such a bigger audience than my Ol' Three Faithful Readers.

 

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to live forever?  Wake up one day and feel an astonishing vibration through your body. Little by little your eyes adjust to the new day's light as you seat by the bed's edge, dazed confused if what had happened last night was just a dream. Good or bad you did not know, but something is turning around and around in your head as you try to make up the images.

 

You give your first step towards the shower, and find your body weak and doddering; almost as if you had a hangover pulsing against your temples so hard it was as if your eyes were abour to fall off their sockets into freespace. With an air of resignation your hands cover your face, rubbing your eyes. Finally in the mirror, you almost not recognize the face staring back at you... old... rancid... decayed.

 

And then you remember the dream. An angel had come in the cover of night upon you; breathing his air into you filling your lungs with such energy you could almost feel travel in the blood of your veins reaching your heart, making it beat stronger. A sweet voice resounded in your head: "A gift," the angel said talking straight to your mind. "Infinity you shall know. Your present will become dust like the path you strode on; and your future nothing but the void that is your present." You gazed into the angel's eyes, entranced at the radiant magnificence of this being engulfed in a light that burned our eyes and yet you could see. Finally the light faded out and the angel left with a smile in its face. Yet, this smile puzzled you now as much as it had then for it had not been the smile of a father but a condescending one.

 

You laid your head to rest expecting to awaken by dawn's ealy light. Intead of the morning, eternity came. It was so fast, like a bulldozer raging your mind as people and places now filled your head, images and voices of things that were said, pictures and pages of words you had read. There was a colleague, your brother, a coach from school, a girl on a sidewalk and a man on TV. They were all dead, and here you stood infront of the mirror with your old skin clinging to weak bones. How long had it been since that fateful night? Tears rolled down you eyes along caved pathways in your cheeks made by eternal years of quietly crying.

 

Many had come and gone. You never cried anymore at funerals for you now understood the joy of eternal rest; so you just stood in the back of the room smiling and wishing, wishing one day would be your turn to give up the towel and finally lie down to sleep. Each day you make your way among people unknown back to your room alone. You sit by the window and stare into the flowing river of life in the streets. Old newspapers in the table are your sole calendar, the only vestige of the life you used to lead. A woman comes by, the daughter of someone you once knew so long ago, and she tends to you. Still, you never take your sight from the young couple across the street, the stray dog by the trash container in the alley and the mother with her children. You once had kids of your own. But now they were only dust in the wind.

 

After so many years you came to understand your curse. Eternal life. Forever you would live as a watcher to this world, recording all that had been, is, and would be. But eternal youth you did not have, and for all eternity your body would slowly grow old and deteriorate until it would carry you no more from your bed, staring emptily at the ceiling as if praying to no avail that the Powers Above to come down at you and smite your body. But the moment just before dawn, the endless universe fills your mind for infinity.

 

It is not Eternal Life that we crave, it is Eternal Youth. That energy, joy and pleasure in our souls and hearts is what makes us live forever. I have seen grown men who have such vitality in their veins that all 60-something years in their bodies reflect nothing of who they are inside. Sometimes they contain more vitality inside that many of us still young. Their bodies being but vessels not big enough to contain all that energy in their existence. It is those men who carry on forever in the memories of others.

 

And now we realize Eternal Life is a curse. Eternal Youth is a blessing we must create.

Hum...

I'm somewhat busy this week with all the school's proyects, plays and what-not. I plea my Ol' Three Faithful Readers to be patient with me.

Full red on anger!

You must know The Queen is my dog. She is the best dog.

The neighbor's dog has been for some time upsetting my dogs. Now, after a fight through the door, the friggin' neigbor's dog bit off one of The Queens fingers... Let me tell you, if I was back home, I would kill that other fuckin' dog with my own hands!

People should have their dogs controlled, either on their backyard's or in their houses. But never should they let them go outside un-supervised! What if instead of my dog it had been a kid, huh? Is it okay for them to shit on everybody's house? Take out the trash out of their containers? No, it is not okay.

Jesus... really... if I get back home, and that fucking dog is alive, I swear by what I hold dear the most I will kill it and I will enjoy every damn last second as a smile runs across my face while I do it. And when finally the live fades from its eyes, I will scream out in joy and victory.

Algo que adoro y odio

Como pueden ver, el día de hoy se ha converito en Double Post Day, y corre peligro de convertirse en un Triple Post Day debido a que mi ida con el dentista me ha hecho pensar muchas cosas raras, hahaha. Ya ven, Marketing se compone de la Parte 1 y Parte 2, la cual probablemente escriba más tardecito. Este pequeño post en particular es para poner en claro algo que me fastidia hasta lo más profundo de mis entrañas pero al mismo tiempo me trae muchas, muchas satisfacciones.

 

Carros pequeños.

 

¿No les ha sucedido que llegan a un estacionamiento que se encuentra abarrotado hasta el término degradante que utilizamos para referirnos a nuestros lindos posteriores que usamos para sentarnos? Y entonces llevan dando vueltas y vueltas como desquiciados cuando repente, iluminado por una luz y coro divino, alcanzan a vislumbrar un lugar libre; pisan el acelerador para que nadie les vaya a ganar el lugar. Sus ojos maníaticos se encuentran fijos sobre ese lugar y la sangre les parpadea en la frente. Comienzan a dar la vuelta para estacionar el carro cuando *¡BAM!* Hay un pequeño bocho estacionado que no tiene una cajuela lo suficientemente protuberante como para que la hubieras notado atrás de esa Expedition. Crap... derrotado te alejas del lugar no sabiendo si gritar, llorar desde lo más hondo de tu ser a los cielos o si del puro coraje embarrar tu auto contra el bocho. ¡No más de pensarlo me hierve la sangre!

 

Sin embargo, mi carro es un Pointer. :D Lo cual es cool porque gracias a su pequeño, compacto y jugetón diseño lo puedo estacionar en casi cualquier espacio que encuentre sin problemas. Eso, además de que en ocasiones muy especiales que necesito aventarme un efecto Matrix  en medio del tráfico para cruzar de un lado al otro de la avenida, pues me es más sencillo abrirme paso entre los apretujados carros que parece se vienen oliendo el trasero como perros. ¡Es más! En alguna ocasión me tocó entrar a un estacionamiento donde por ser carro compacto te cobraban $3 pesos menos que a los otros carros. ¡No más de pensarlo me causa sonreir!

 

Es cómico ya que es un sentimiento de adoración y odio al mismo tiempo. Pretty much like love.

Marketing Pt. 1

Vengo llegando de ir con el verdugo... ¡digo! El dentista. Pero eso no es lo importante; el punto es que me dí cuenta de cómo el mexicano común, silvestre y corriente tiene muchos conocimientos innatos del marketing; y no sólo eso, que probablemente los aplican mucho mejor que grandes corporativos.

Por alguna razón misteriosa me gusta ir con el dentista los jueves muy temprano en la mañana. Digo, a mal paso darle prisa, ¿no? Llegué al lugar en mi auto y como siempre hay que localizar un espacio para parkear. Allá a las quinientas encontré lugar; de entrada no había un cuate de los que cuidan/lavan los carros por lo que comencé a tener el gran debate eterno: "¿Cuánto tiempo tardaré con el dentista? ¿Le pongo al parquimetro -¿esa palabra existe, o es un gran americanismo? - suficiente para una hora? ¿O para dos?"

Como por arte de magia, apareció el Parking Man acompañado de una misteriosa brisa. "Qué tal güero, ¿se lo cuido?" Sé a ciencia cierta que más que cuidarme el carro per se, están más o menos al pendiente de los agentes de tránsito que revisan los parquimetros y es entonces cuando les echan moneditas de 50 centavos para que parezca que tiene dinero. Ah claro, como tienen que tener una buena imagen con el cliente, la primera monedita que le echan es de un peso, de tal manera que el cliente - lease como, yo y el civil común - se va con la idea en mente de que le están proporcionando un buen servicio. En realidad yo no me fuí pensando eso, me iba preguntando: "¿Por qué demonios desde hace un año que vengo a este lugar todos los Parking Men me dicen 'güero'?"

Después de que el verd-... doctor... me tortur-... revisó, salí de su consultorio. Y a pesar del gran sufrimiento que me trae, ¡todavía le pago! En fin, salí y me dirigí a mi carro mientras buscaba en la gran profundidad del abismo que es la bolsa de mi pantalón unas monedas para darle al Parking Man; sólo encontré una de $10 pesos - se fijan como en teoría es redundante poner tanto el signo de pesos ($) como la palabra "pesos", ya que el signo en sí es suficiente para refenciar que son pesos - y pues ni pedigree, qué le voy a hacer. Además, probablemente él necesita más esos pesillos que yo.

Llego a mi carro, y no veo por ningún lado al Parking Man. Me detengo un momento estupefacto, pues yo creería que estarían muy al pendiente de los clientes que regresan a pagar, pero no se veía en las cercanías. Eché otro vistazo, miré a mi alrededor. Nada. Se había esfumado. Me encongí de hombros y volví a mandar la moneda de $10 al abismo de mi pantalón; abrí la puerta y me proponía a entrar cuando de repente apareció el Parking Man al lado de un carro tres espacios al lado del mío. No lo había visto porque se encontraba lavando el carro - que por cierto, era un mustang - y había estado agachado. De ipso facto busqué de nuevo la moneda al mismo tiempo que levanté la mano para indicarle que le iba a pagar. ¿Saben qué hizo el cuate? Sonrió y dijo: "¡Nos vemos güero!"

What in the friggin' poop?!

¿Por qué dejó ir el dinero? ¿Por qué no vino rápidamente por su pago? ¿Y por qué me siguen llamado güero? Pues así por las buenas me ahorré mis $10 y me subí a mi carro, arranqué y me fuí sin pensarlo una segunda vez. Pero me fuí masticando porqué no vino, y por fin llegué a una respuesta. Yo le iba a dar unos tristes $10 pesos, cuando por lavar el carro va a ganar $80 pesucos - ¡Hey! "Hasta armoról le ponemos a la llantas jefecito, quedarán como nuevas". Pero claro que le conviene olvidarse del pez pequeño e ir por el pez gordo - aunque probablemente yo estuviera más gordo que el dueño de ese mustang - pues yo representaba una pequeña ganancia para él; mejor se preocupa por ofrecerle un servicio satisfactorio al dueño del Mustang para entonces cobrar $80, que de entrada son $70 más que lo que le iba a dar, y si agarra de buenas al tipo que encuentra su carro rechinando de limpio hasta le deja el billete de $100 completito.

Como pueden ver, y Supermarioneta Divina no me dejará mentir, el Parking Man tenía suficientes conocimientos innatos para conocer conceptos como Servicio al Cliente - "Buenos días güero, ¿cómo le va?" -; evitar la Disonancia Cognoscitiva - al echar la moneda de peso para que me vaya feliz -; control total de la Plaza - está parado justo al lado de los parquimetros -; Core Product Features - lavar el carro y ponerle 'armoról' -; Estrategias de Producto - te cuida y el carro y "de pasada se lo lavo jefecito"- y el concepto de Clientes Empresariales - preocuparse por el cuate del Mustang antes que el del triste Pointer.

¿Y saben qué es lo mejor? El Parking Man es un tipo salido de la calle que aprendió todo esto por experiencia, y tras largos años de práctica se ha convertido en todo un maestro en el manejo de la estrategia del negocio. Todo esto sin tener que estudiar, matarse haciendo proyectos, escuchar a profes aburridos, partirse la madre con equipos pedorros ni pagar $50,000 al semestre durante 5 años.

Pero aún no logro resolver el enigma... ¿por qué me llaman güero?

Muahaha!

Hola!

Como pueden ver mis queridos Tres Lectores, el día de hoy el blog está escrito en español. *insert evil laughter here* Esto es porque comencé a sentirme un poco discriminado ya que todos los demás blogs que se encuetran en la sección de links, dicese a la derecha de este escrito, están escritos en español.

[Ahí están los culpables] ------------------------------------>

Entonces como les decía, casi me sentí un poco remotamente mal. Decidí entonces hacer unos cuantos... ven, por eso no me gusta escribir de repente en español... ¿cuál es la traducción de entries? Okay, el punto es que hare unos cuantos posts en español a ver qué carajones [Carajos + Cojones] sale.

El día de hoy ha sido muy especial. Por una razón: desde la mañana digamos que no amanecí de la mejor disposición para hacer las cosas. Sin embargo tenía sesión de fotografías para el programa de mano de Metamorfosis -la obra en la que participaré próximamente- así que me levanté con todo el dolor y pesar de mi corazón... más bien el pesar de mi huejera [Hueva + Flojera, I think only my sister knew that one beforehand] y me dirigí a la regadera en donde... bueno, a fin de cuentas que les importa lo que haya hecho en la regadera. Fuí a la sesión y me dí cuenta que cometí un error grande: ir recién bañado. ¿Por qué, se preguntan? Pues porque mi cabello está mojado y relamido por lo mismo, y me hubiera gustado salir con el cabello esponjado y que se note que está largo. Además que no me dejaron tomarme la foto con camisa de fuerza. Yes, I am being serious.

De cualquier manera, después de eso recordé todas las chácharas que tengo que hacer entre proyectos, lavar el carro, ensayos, lavar ropa, ir al baño y respirar. Cabeza de Zanahoria estaba igual que yo; fuimos a comer, filosofamos un poco de la vida, y partimos a ensayo de Drácula eventualmente.

Sí, vamos a "montar" Drácula.

Lo pongo entre comillas porque de entrada es una versión demasiado bizarra de Drácula, hehehe. Salgo de Renfield, razón por la que tengo una camisa de fuerza en mi cuarto en estos momentos. I told you I was being serious. Eso y que sólo tuvimos dos semanas para hacer todo el trabajo. El punto es que era un desmother el que traíamos y, sinceramente aunque sé que algunos de los miembros están leyendo esto, no creo que avanzamos mucho.

Con toda la pesadumbre del mundo, Cabeza de Zanahoria y yo fuímos a ver que show con detalles del vestuario de Metamorfosis. En el camino vimos una parejita de novios que iban muy tomados de la mano. Ella iba muy sonriente, caminando con brinquitos de caperucita roja por el campo y él con una sonrisota viéndole el trasero. No, no se lo ví, pero por la sonrisa del novio supondré que estaba de verse. Aún así eso no me alegró el día ya que, como había mencionado, era un día demasiado amargo. La chava voltéo a ver algo que la emocionó y dijo: "Mira!" y apuntó a algo para que el novio viera.

Los pasamos, y le dije a Cabeza de Zanahoria muy, muy sutilmente: "Creo que son novios recientes. Casi acaban de empezar a andar." A lo que muy elocuentemente él contestó: "Estaban muy felices como para llevar tiempo siendo novios. ¡Hey! ¡Se les perdió el camino dorado!" En silencio avanzamos un poco más antes que él dijera: "Eso, o estamos muy amargados el día de hoy."

Pegó en el punto justo, y exploté en risa.

Seguimos caminando cuando vemos que el tráfico de la calle está detenido por una grúa que se está llevando un carro que estaba ilegalmente estacionado en un lugar reservado para minusválidos... o discapacitados... o gente con capacidades diferentes... vaya crippled; no sé cuál sea el término políticamente correcto el día de hoy.

Normalmente hubiera aplaudido a la acción de los agentes de tránsito, como aquella vez que se llevaron 10 carros -sí, diez, los conté- de enfrente de mis residencias porque estaban estacionados en un lugar con línea roja. Pero en esta ocasión !Estaba la grúa atravesada a mitad de la calle! ¡Obstruyendo todo el tráfico!

*imaginar programa informativo infantil* "Hola. Soy un agente de tránsito. Mi trabajo es hacer que se cumpla el orden en las calles y el tráfico fluya por las calles. ¡Me cago en mi trabajo!"

Por eso el país está así de jodido, ya ni la tingan. Me dió algo de coraje, pero después ese evento me alegró mucho el día cuando me dí cuenta que yo no sería el pobre wey que llegaría a su carro muy campante, después de un sabroso faje en las salas de estudio del cuarto piso de la biblioteca, y toparme con que mi carro no estaba.

Sólo faltó una cosa para realmente haberme puesto de buen humor. Ir a un orfanatorio y gritarles a todos los niños:

"WHO'S YOUR DADDY?!"

Something I hate

Hello Ol' Three Faithful Readers. My last entry had to do with something I like -girls-, now this one will have to do with something I hate. As a side note, the posts were too close in between, so be sure to read I Like Girls. Anyway! On to what I hate.

 

I hate dry toothpaste!

 

Yes, you read right. Dry toothpaste. I was recently... -recentrly being just two minutes ago-... brushing my teeth. So it happened that I left my toothpaste open overnight, hence the usual over squished paste on the tube's exit turned to a dry crust. You know, the way ketchup starts building up on the top of the bottle until it dries off like glue.

 

Not perceiving this little fact and because I have a class in 15 minutes, hastily I took the paste and smeared in the brush. In it goes to my mouth and *squinsh* ... dry toothpaste... in my mouth... like a mix between a rock and a chewy mass of sticky goo.

 

Gah! *regurgitates* I hate dry toothpaste.

I like girls

I just wanted to let you all know that I like girls.

Yes, I am a man. Therefore I cannot help it when a pretty piece of meat passes by. Yes I know this bugs the ladies. No... it does not bug them. It really upsets them; if girls were bombs then male eyes fixing on their bodies would surely set them off. *Ka-Boom!* I have a sister, and many girl [SPACE] friends - note the [SPACE], thank you - who have told me this and how they can almost feel dirty, lustful eyes undressing them sometimes. As for me... well, I would not complain if a chick was undressing me with her dirty, lustful eyes. :D

But hey, we all have eyes. We cannot help looking at pretty things.

There I am sitting casually in the library working at my computer creating data structures that will hold up parameter and variable directories for my language procedures at compile time. You know, the usual geek stuff that I am sure my Ol' Three Faithful Readers do not care reading about. Suddenly there is an aura in the room that becons me to turn, that magically hypnothizes me much like the fiddler's song. Foolishly, losing my mind to the curse of the siren's song, I turn my head.

And there she is. Those long, never-ending legs I would like to travel for all eternity; firm yet silky smooth. If her skirt were any shorter, it would be called a belt. Yet I will not complain about the sweet, harmonic movement of her round rear pelvic area posterior to the hips formed by tender gluteal muscles and underlying structures. Perfect and dangerous curves along her hips and a waist you could lay down your head upon to rest. A lean unmarked stomach with a small circular pool in which to drown your senses. Above that fertile plain of pleasure stood two gracious love pillows full with maternal care and love. Round, fragile shoulders leading to a graceful outline that is her neck, like a patway to the upper petals of an orchid flower that are her sweet lips. Like a queen of snow, her milky white skin and pearly eyes lighting her precious way and her hair fell like a fresh waterfall expelling a faint, perceptible breeze.

She was divinity's creature. A live porcelain doll.

I could deny it. I could deny anything if I wanted. But yes, I was mesmerized for such short seconds that seemed like an eternity. My eyes locked to her body like heat-seeking missiles set to destroy. Maybe, I cannot tell, my mouth fell open in such a way that if a fly had been passing by, it could have very well established its home in me. As she passed by, my head rolled like Regan's did in the Exorcist; and maybe... no, surely I was possessed at that moment by her unnatural beauty. And I was not the only one. Remember those old cartoons that had a wolf that each time a girl passed he would whistle lustfully behind them and his eyes leave his sockets? Yeah, like a pack of rabid dogs all male eyes followed her. If I had to vouch for my innocence, I would declare that women look for that kind of attention. Yeah, even though they say they dislike it they would not go out dresses with big, wide open cleavages and short skirts if they did not want to be seen. Nevertheless I will not say that. Instead I will said what then happened in my mind.

After the moment had come and gone I turned my head back to my computer still in shock; and just as soon I forgot about the USDA Approved meat that had went by moments ago. A completely different image had come to my mind that beat down all the lust and instinct inside of me.

Want to know the first thing that came to my mind? It was another woman in my life. It was Her. My Dove. The One Girl that I like and want... nay, maybe that I love. Just the image of Her cute face, Her touching smile, Her playful eyes and Her scornful look when I am unpolite - yes, I even and specially like Her when she reprimands me like a little kid. With dreamy eyes looking at nowhere and everywere, I smiled. I was happy. A feeling of tranquility swept over my soul.

Why is this relevant? Because no matter if Aphrodite herself came washing down on us humans, my heart and mind would belong to My Dove. It is Her I turn to when I'm feeling low; it is Her who I think of in times of despair. It is to My Dove who I would wish to come back home; to Her arms after all is said and done. Let goddesses come and let men fight over them; let wars break out and friendships be broken over them. I will take no part in them; instead I will sleep and dream of the One Girl that lives in my heart.

I guess what I mean is that there are many, many women in the world and some of them are USDA Approved Meat Goddesses set out to entertain the eye and lust, still none of them bring the warm and fuzzy feeling to the heart.

I like girls. But I can only love My Dove.

Horrifying Good!

Greetings mortals!

Last Saturday I went along with Carrot Head, The Mom Away From Home, The Pretty Assistant and The Maid to see The Machinist at the movies. First off, let me say it is a great movie, especially Christian Bale's performance and the fact that he had to lose 67 pounds for the movie; which is amazing if you see the hard body he had on American Psycho and even more amazing when you consider he is pumped up in the new Batman movie. That speaks a lot about discipline.

Although the movie cannot be classified as horror since it leans towards suspense, let me say that I was surprised The Pretty Assistant came along with us because she dislikes horror movies so much; actually, if I must be totally honest, I think I might have lied to her a little bit when she asked what the movie was about. Hey! You cannot blame me for wanting her to jog along so I had to use any underhanded techniques at my disposal. Means to an end. In any case, I think she liked it...

... a little... maybe...

But that is besides the point. The point is that she got me thinking about her dislike for horror movies and found out that a lot of people find horror movies senseless and... well... vanal. A guy in a jockey mask following around naked teens with a chainsaw and cutting them to pieces in their dreams on Halloween night does not sound like much of a piece of art. And you know what? I agree.

Still, I like gore :D

Then I had a realization: that is not horror. Most slasher films (Freddy, Jason, Michael, Texas Chainsaw Massacre) are terror movies. I guess now there are two thoughts going through your head: "What in the blazes is this guy talking about? I should stop reading this senseless crap" or "What in the blazes is this guy talking about? Meh, I have nothing better to do so I will humor him and read the entire thing."

Please stay, I get lonely.

When we speak of terrorism inherently we fear for our physical well-being, of not being blown away to pieces or maybe shot down by a sniper. That is terror, some kind of physical fear, clean cut bleeding damage to our bodies. It is pain as much as a corporal repulsion. This is why terror is born out of scenes which I call Gross Out Scenes; when there is a shot of something really disgusting on screen: a gun to someone's head, the high impact noise of the bullet crushing the guy's skull, squishing the brains as they fly through the room and end up splattering against the wall; rotting zombies with their hanging eyeballs yelling "brains!" in a mall while they tear people's guts out and eat them with deviant and void pleasure. You get the picture. A very good example of this is Cabin Fever.

Horror is a psychological fear, mental and spiritual. It is more primitive and arcane. The fears we have to life itself, rooted well inside our souls. That is why sometimes a movie that speaks to us about the meaning of life, of not knowing what is going on in our heads, of being lost in a dark alley really get to us and scare the living bejeebus out of our bones. Blair Witch, Open Water, Jacob's Ladder and The Eye are good examples of this kind of fear. Horror is not just an image which scares you, but the fear of not knowing what in the hell is happening to your sense, the insecurity for your soul and human existence. And not necessarily your own, but of other people out there.

That is why the movies succeding in causing such a big fear capable of killing Dissi of a heart attack are those with a good mix of terror and horror, such as The Phone. Movies that can set the psycological mood plus throw some scary images to support that atmosphere and increase the feeling of hopelesness. Lucio Fulci is a director that comes to mind; someone who could show you scenes of tension, suspense and horror; then suddenly gross you out with a totally disgusting scene of a little girl's head exploding into pieces with flying brains all around to up the notch on terror before going back to the psychological horror.

Kinda like a roller coaster. Ups and downs.

Yet, horror and terror are not enough to make a good movie. A good movie should be entertaining while still being capable of leaving a message behind that the audience can later reflect upon. Therefore, to me the really good horror movies are those that instead of the writter/director coming up with ideas to scare you, they think of something they actually want to tell to the public. Maybe a social commentary, critisism or love. And then wrapping this message in a nice, tiddied up horror package. Then you get a real good movie which has you on the edge of your seat all one-hundred-and-twenty minutes and come out of the theater thinking: "Wow, I had never looked at life this way." Case in point, just one of the best movies to come out in ages: Saw.

That is why I take so long to come up with my screenplays -yes, I sometimes write beyond this senseless words on the Net-; because I have to think of something I want to tell the world, something I want people to think about and after that contextualize it to a horror story.

In summary, terror is to scare while horror is to fear.

Through the Eyes

Hello again my Ol' Three Faithful Readers. Today is a double post day, so do not forget to read "Huggable Teddy" as part of today's blog. Actually, I do not know what to make this second post about... I have two ideas, but I do not know which one to elaborate.

 

I could go on and write about Terror/Horror movies since recently I saw a horror movie and, being a horror fan, would like to share my thoughts on what makes good horror movies, as well as the fine line that sets terror and horror apart.

 

Maybe I could rant about something that has something to do with my previous post today... hum... yeah, I will do that.

 

Today I woke up like any other monday ready to go to my Compilers class. Hazy, I got into the bathroom to take a shower. As usual I took my sweet time since the class is early in the morning. I let the hot water run down my body and wash away the lazyness from my skin.

 

I got out and grabbed my first pair of clean Levi's, and the first shirt available, no questions asked. Suddenly the realization that I had no money on my wallet struck me like a rabid dog biting me, especially since my stomach grumbled for food. I open my drawer, which along with its usual papers, pens, random CDs and all around useless crap, contains all my spare change money. I collected what little I could and took off to the convenience store.

 

I grab my usual shake and Pop-Tarts breakfast and walk towards the cash register. That's when I see something unusual in my day: the attendant lady is... I do not know if fatter or pregnant. But by the looks of it I figure she is pregnant. Deep down in my head I guess I am happy for her. I do not talk to her, I do not know her name. But I always say "good morning," "thanks" and smile everytime I enter the store for something.

 

And then I walk towards my class. As I am walking through the morninng breeze, I realize that all the people I see pass by me are the same people I see everyday when I go to my class at this time of the day. Oddly, I realize that we have connected in a very weird way.

 

Each day I see them, and each day we smile to each other. From time to time we even mutter a greeting to each other. Some days I can even know if they are troubled, happy or angry just by looking at them and I bet they also can read me like an open book just by passing them by.

 

We have never crossed words, yet we know each other so well. But maybe that is the magic of my relationship with all of them; that we do not share words. We just stare into each other's eyes, smile and go on our way. Yet there is contact when our eyes meet, and sometimes our eyes can tell more than words. Some say they are the windows to our souls.

 

Yeah, I guess that is what we are maybe: Soul-mates sharing the morning breeze and the same road.

Huggable Teddy

Another play came and went.

The group was taken to a National Theater Festival in another city. Personally I cannot find something "national" about the event since only four cities participated in it. Nevertheless, there we were; it all went smooth, I liked the experience though we were treated like little kids. At least dessert on the buffets was yummy.

We barely set foot back on our city when I and Carrot Head had a rehearsal for another play. If I must be honest, I was falling asleep; my mind, bones and flesh were tired from the journey. And let me tell you that sleeping four hours on a bus' seat is the equivalent of sleeping minus four hours on your bed. Not even a contorsionist could sleep comfortably on such conditions. But I, along with the whole group survived... though maybe a part of me wished some had not, hehehe :D

But today I am angry. Maybe disturbed is the word that best describes my feelings. You see, I'm what you would consider fat. Or at least I was. Not obese, but yeah, a little overweight. Yet, ever since last semester people have been telling me I look thinner; hell! I feel thinner. Which would be good, right?

Wrong!

Last month I bought a new belt because my pants were falling down and I feel unprotected, almost naked without my belt. And now even with the new belt my pants keep falling down! There is nothing I can do now to solve this problem except, maybe, grow fatter again! Obviously I'm against that particular idea so the other option is to get new jeans.

This worries me in several levels. First and foremost, changing my clothing is expensive. It is not like I can go about changing all my clothes each month. Just as there are certain documented standard procedures to follow in a company to achieve a certain degree of process maturity, we also have to create standard procedures in our everyday life to obtain discipline.

See here, I always wear Levi's. Ever since I have memory I have worn Levi's and I will always wear Levi's to my grave. Hell! Bury me with Levi's. And when it comes to dressing formally I always choose Dockers and nothing more; either khaki, dark blue or black Dockers; I will not accept nothing else. If you keep looking at my clothes, you will find that they all follow more or less the same patterns: blues, red and blacks. Most have a polo look to them, and if they are not like that then they are hawaiian style shirts. My shoes? Yep, they are all similar. I have even bought the same model for three years; the same exact model.

And this helps a lot in everyday life. Just recently I had to find a black pair of pants for a play. The Mom Away From Home and some other friends came along to help me find them. Well, it took me less than 5 minutes to find and buy the pants. Just as we came inside the mall I found a Dockers store; went in, found the color I was looking for, found my size, paid at the cashier, done. That is the reason I always wear the same brand, because I know exactly what model of Levi's I use and exactly what size fits like a glove. I know exactly what kind of colors look okay on me and what kind of shirts make me look nice. Instead of spending precious time deciding what I will wear like most people do, I just take my pair of Levi's and a random shirt.

Since I began to get thinner, the standards have changed; whenever I go to a store I have to go inside the fitting room to see what size fits me okay now. Besides being a complete waste of time, the idea that I might be trying the same clothes a hairy, sweaty, smelly man tried just minutes before me is... well... not appealing.

Then comes the stretch marks. Once upon a time I was a slim boy, then I grew fat, then I got thin again, then I got a little fat afterwards. Then fatter. Then came my football year and I grew (or un-grew) thin. Guess how I got after that? Yes, a little overweight. After that left my home to study in another school and, with no parents to take care of my well-being, I grew fat. And now I'm going thinner. You can only imagine the stretch marks on my belly... or maybe you do not want to... serve yourself.

More importantly, I was talking the other day with my Mom Away From Home about relationships and the such. She came up with a very interesting point that had something to do with women wanting a man to be their own personal teddy bear to hug. And what makes a teddy bear huggable? It's chubbyness! So I'm angry because if I lose my chubbyness I won't be huggable anymore.

And I want to be a Huggable Teddy!

Give it to me, pr0n-to!

The reason why in my e-Business Development class I was asked to do a presentation on Explicit Sex on the Internet is beyond me. Yet, I will not complain since this was one of the few researches I have done that brought me many, many satisfactions.

Long story short: there's no legislation when it comes to cyber-porn. Although there are certain rules to over-the-counter pornography, most of these laws cannot apply to the Internet. Just consider how can you legislate content that is hosted... well... nowhere. Even so, attempts such as the Communications Decency Act in 1996 have failed; the Child Online Protection Act is failing right now.

And why?

Because according to Larry Flint: "Pornography is a vital freedom and that a a free and civilized society should be judged by its willingness to accept pornography." I might not be 100% OK with this, but the claim that banning porn is attempts against the 1st Amendment... well... I'm not American per se, so let's generalize saying completely banning it would oppose Free Speech is right. I believe as human beings we should have the capacity to select what we want to see from what we do not want to see.

Later on I was discussing this with the Pretty Assistant. You see, apart from being pretty she's also somewhat politically correct -do not get me wrong, I actually like that pretty much about her-, so she said something along the lines that precisely because countries like US do not legislate this kind of things is the reason their culture is so screwed up and they have to deal with sexual maniacs. Promptly, I set up a little side-investigation: Sexual crimes in the US, a so called "amoral" culture vs. Sexual crimes in Mexico, a very uptigh "moral" culture. Results? There are almost twice as much sexual crimes reported in Mexico than in the US. Note on the word reported. Less than 30% of crimes are reported to Mexican authorities, so the actual number of sexual crimes in Mexico might be higher.

Tell me now that Mexico is a more "morally mature" society and I will laugh in your face.

Yes, in Mexico we do have legal movements against pornography on the Internet, against child pornography. Hell, being a mostly Catholic society Mexico has laws against most things considered amoral. But what good are laws? What good is it that we have laws against selling alcohol to minors if store vendors will do it for an extra charge? Will a law prohibiting the sale of alcohol after 2a.m. guarantee teens won't alcoholize themselves and crash his car against old ladies and their two month old grandson sitting peacefully in the park? Will Doña Chole stop selling clandestine beer in the back of a van behind a dark alley just because there is a law stating she should not? What good is a law that prohibits me from having child porn if they cannot know what I have or what content I access on my computer? Tell me the point of a law against selling drugs if we also consider legal for people to carry a considerate amount of drugs considered to be for "personal use"?

Heck! What good is any law if it is not carried out?

The real way we can make laws be worth the ink they're written in is by having a mature society. When a society is sufficiently mature all actions are carried out for the common well being. The reason laws work is because people in the society obey them, not just because they are there. What's more, I believe that we can qualify a society of being mature and advanced when it does not need to have laws and punishments in order for people to do right.

Now, we owe a great technological achievments on Internet matters to porn too. First sites to offer privacy protecion? Porn sites. First sites to offer security schemes to protect credit card numbers? Porn sites. First site to implement dynamic content? Porn sites. First sites to invent the sponsored links concept? Porn sites. First sites to offer pay-per-click-ad models? Porn sites. Reason video compression codecs such as DivX where created? Porn sites. Internet industry to produce more money? Porn sites.

In conclusion my Ol' Three Faithful Readers: Crimes and perversion are not proportional to the "morallity" of a society; they're proportional to the society's level of maturity. You want to solve pornography, or all around amoral content? Then do not ask for it. Alfred Marshall won't let me lie when I say that we are supplied only what we demand.

That, and I'm changing my e-Business from a computer accesory store to a pr0n site.

Timmy Lives!

Normally I would try to do only one post a day so as not to tire my Ol' Three Faithful Reader. But I missed yesterday's blog and something way cool just happened that makes me al smoochy inside. So, in case I confuse some people, be sure to read "O Mystical Sunday" to find out about yesterday's adventures.

Oh, and by the way: I did take my underwear of the washing machine.

I arrive at my e-Business Development class, in which I learn how to link up the business model of an e-commerce organization with tecnology and the Internet. All that is besides the point and I bet you do not care much for it. Hell, I do not care much about it. Point is the teacher arrives and tell me: "You did not come to class on Friday." To which I answer, with a puzzling face: "I was at the monologue contest. Did you not receive an e-mail?" The answer was obvious I think: he did not.

"You missed the quiz we had." He says, but in his eyes I see the teacher is thinking something more along the lines of: "You see, keep playing with kiddie stuff such as acting." Defiantly I answer: "Hey, I got Second Place. That's as good as a 100 on the quiz, is it not teach?" He smiles, looks at me and dares me: "Okay. Before the class is over you will present your monologue. If I like it, then you might get a 100."

There was no production whatsoever since I'm impromptu in the classroom with a very reduced space. But hey, I like my craft. I fix things as much as I can using a chair as the bed and an actual desk as the table, a backpack as the box I use to take out mask and there I go.

Let me tell you something: for some freaky reason I felt a lot more better in the classroom than I did in the contest; more in tune with the character and doing things more naturally. Oh well. I finish and it seems my classmates did like it. One chick even comes to me and starts asking me details about Timmy: Did he kill his parents? How did he kill his sister? What mask did he use? It seems she completely understood it. Others came to me and said: "Man, you did scare me for a second there." Now that I remember it, after the contest I was walking non-galantly to my car carrying all the utilities we had used. Suddenly a car stops besides me, honks, and a lady yells through the window: "Bye bye Timmy!" I look to my side and tell Timmy to say thanks, smile and wave goodbye. The woman laughs before she drives off only God knows if back home to her kids, to dine with her family or maybe to meet a secret lover that passionately awaits her. Moments like these are the ones that make me all soft inside and remember why I like acting.

Oh yeah! Timmy did get a 100 on his quiz.

O Mystical Sunday

Hello there my  Ol' Three Faithful Readers. I missed my Sunday's post.

 

Yet I swear it was for a good reason: I spent the day in a very productive way. Rats! I did not produce something per se, but along with the Mom Away From Home we spent the day driving around the city throwing the ball; we visited a house fancy house that was up for exhibition. Let me tell you that while fancy and big I did not like it that much. The home theater was set at the wrong place, the rooms felt to squared... but do not get me wrong! I would not complain if I won that house on a contest! :D

 

Then we looked for this chinese restarurant that does not exist in a real place; it exist in a mystical realm of magic in which no normal human being can enter. You see, only through invitation of another member, participant of the knowledge can you be washed with the delicacies of such magnificent, hunger fulfilling food. I'm not exagerating! The restaurant has no signs indicating it is a restaurant, the door to the place is right between two houses... I mean, if you pass by you would never think there's such a magical place in the middle.

 

Lo and behold, I found the Chinese Food Shrine as we shall call it from now on thanking the good deities for creating such places of heaven on earth.

 

Yet we were not hungry, so after getting lost in the mysterious valleys and roads of a city burning at 90F, we stumbled across and oasis: Dairy Queen! Never had the mix of a Chili-Dog and a Blizzard been so rewarding and the secret, yet liberating art of turning upside down your frozen drink been so amazing. Truly, those men and women working at DQ turning Blizzards upside down are zen-like beings that defy the powers of gravity each passing day.

 

Finally we came to a rest at a friend's house, where we watched her with awe as she grabbed a dirty plate or other kitchen utility, puored it in water and procured the same utensil in a clean, immaculate state. Suddenly she had a magical mop with which she made the floors below us shine and reflect the sun to our faces as if to open, illuminate our eyes. After she had made do with all these chores, she humbly sat to rest with us.

 

Later I had a play rehearsal since I'm leaving on Friday to present it in another city. Oddly enough, this rehearsal was on the bottom of the "Cool  Curve." The Cool Curve is something to be told another day. Suffice it to say I was bored. My spirit... nay! My body decayed a little during those three hours. But I survived.

 

And so it was my day. I came back to My Four Walls to rest. I do not know why, but I feel that I did a lot more on that day that what I have done in weeks. Aaaa yes... a productive day. Man, ain't this the most trite blog if I've ever seen one. It is just that most of Sunday came out to be catharsiastic... that is not a real word, but it defines pretty well my feelings; a purge of pressure beyond the fartatian sense.

 

Today I must come back to reality and retrieve my underwear from the wash machine.

Timmy, or The Horror

So, yeah. The contest came and went. How did it go?

Well, it was horrible. Part of my staff did not show up, which complicated both getting all utilities to the theater as well as moving them into the stage; not to mention time that could have been used to rehearse or prepare.

At first I was worried because my staff was not complete, but then my turn came and we had to make do. We went up the stage and had 1 minute to set the stage. It was not a minute really, more like the time the presenter took to read the curriculum of one of the jury members. Unfortunately for me the curriculum of the juror that came in my place was... well... small and simple compared to others who took about 3/4 minutes to read hence giving the production more time to set things up.

But hey, all utilities are in their place, ready to be taken on stage, right? Wrong. Moving the bed to the stage was problematic, since the only staff I had were women (the male part of my staff was the missing part). But it finally got there. I went to take my place and lo and behold! The table we were going to use was not there! So the girl in charge of placing the stuff on stage comes to me and says: "There's no table!"

I think to myself: I only need the teddy bear (Timmy) to be in his position, to hell with the table. I can make do without table or bed or nothing, I only need the bear to be in his place. So I tell her that: "Is Timmy on his place?" And she answers: "No, there's no table." I stop to think... Timmy was not supposed to be on the table... so I reply: "Don't worry about the table. Is Timmy in the front of the stage where marked?" And she almost yells at me: "I told you there's no table!" I almost explode, but calm my senses: "Okay... see, just put Timmy in his place *right here she begins to say something, but I interrupt her* SHHH! Just put Timmy in the front of the stage where the taped X is!" And she does just that.

So, although it seemed an eternity, it really did not take a minute. I guess it was more like 40 seconds. But the presenter had already finished with the curriculum of the juror... so the silence was deafening. I hurry up stage to begin my monologue, and boom! The ilumination came on late. Hey, I can't blame the God of Lighting because I had already taken so much time, I bet I came out unexpectedly to the stage.

I begin my monologue, with my mind somewhere else. Everything that was supposed to be at the table is in the bed... I didn't have time to concentrate... the audience was somewhat reluctant... I just wasn't there. Cold. Dead. Just saying my lines. Not sure about what I was doing. Just horrible.

Of course, little by little I begin to warm up, and somewhere along the middle of the mologue I'm on full throttle. But maybe too little too late. The monologue ends, there's an explosion of applause but I don't listen; all my head is telling me is: "Everything went to hell and back... crap..."

Half-staff and me take all utility off the stage. Defeated I stood in shock for a minute and head back to my seat. I swear to The Powers That Be that I felt so low, I wanted to cry right there at that moment. Just hours ago... nay... minutes ago I was so sure I would win. And now I was so sure it had all gone to poop. And with each of the contending monologues obtaining more applause, more screams, more laughs and more cheers; a sour tear did roll out of my right eye. Long story short, I did not win... ... first place...

... instead I got second place.

Oh yeah man, I did scream out in joy when the results came. I was not expecting anything, I was expecting defeat and the great void of things that coulda-woulda-shoulda been but were not. My trembling and excited hands took the price, and a smile crossed my face from side to side. I took a prize home.

Moments later I was mad, because I knew that I coulda-woulda-shoulda gotten first place if all the mistakes had not happened, if I had enter the stage more prepared, more rehearsed, more in tune. Red with anger because I had so eloquently said before: "Second place is the first loser" only put the hangman's noose around my own neck. Nothing makes me feel more of a loser than knowing I was there, knowing I'm a close second, knowing people will remember me as "good but not good enough."

But then, I realized something. Everything had come out wrong. The utility, my acting, timing... everything had been wrong! And yet, I took second place. What can this mean? It means that when tides are moving against me, I still have it in me to go back and fight. I means others should thank me for making mistakes. It means that I'm the best of the losers.

But most importantly: it means I'm so good that even when I'm bad, I'm still good.

Just as an extra after-thought: You are only as good as those around you. Thanks to you all who helped me: The Whip Wearing Director for pushing me, The God of Lighting up above, The Go Lucky Girl putting Timmy in his place and The Creepy Nurse doing only God-knows-what that the audience loved. And thanks to all of you who supported me! :D

Small Delicacies

I would like to inform my Ol' Three Faithful Readers that yesterday, March 30th 2005, was a glorious day. On a day like that at aproximately 16:30 I came into this world. A blessing to some, a curse to others. But mostly a blessing.

It was a very good day. A day of small, subtle, yet great details. Ironically, the first Happy Birthday e-mail or notice I got came from Overclock.net. I found it nice that, though it was most probably nothing more than a stored procedure in a MySQL database, they took the time to add it and congratulate forum members. Thanks guys!

I woke up, the smell of the bottled up oxygen in my lungs. It was at that moment I realized my roomie and I had to open the window for a while, or else we would die in our own carbon monoxide. Non-galantly I showered, dressed up and went to my first class, Compilers, only to find out my teacher (who happens to be my career director) also celebrates her birthday on 03/30. Funny, hehehe.

Then came another pleasant, great detail on my B-Day: The visit to the dentist. Hahahaha, only I make an appoiment with the dentist on that very day to have my braces set. Oooooh yeah. I love the pain. Somehow I enjoy my visits to the dentist, but that is a story for another day my good Ol' Three Faithful Readers, a story I will title: "The New Pleasure."

The God of Lighting phoned me up after that. I was driving while he sang "Happy Birthday to you," so there was a complete mix of feeling in me between: happyness and road-rage anger against the old lady pulling her screwed up oldsmobile against my lane. But I survived the look-ma-no-hands stunt. It was something to remember! Hehehe.

And then, the moment I am sure my Ol' Three Faithful Readers are waiting for: the monologue constest results... I got back to My Four Walls... drops of anxious sweat running down my forehead... I'd left Jessy on and in my Gmail account... I turn on the monitor. There it is, three new e-mails in my Inbox: One from a friend, another from my parents, and lastly one with the monologue elimination results. Coldly, I stood in my place, staring at the screen with a blank mind. I read the other two e-mails first as if trying to easy my mind: obviously congratulations from a friend and my parents. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath that filled my lungs with oxygen and clicked the Inbox button... and finally... the dreaded yet expect e-mail.

Okay, where are the results? I see no list. I almost explode in a fit of rage as I discover there's an attached Word document. Click, downloading. Those five seconds it took 408KB to download seemed an eternity to me. I swear I could see each and every bit going down the ethernet cable, mocking me as they walk as slow as they can, ooops! An ACK lost, must do a callback, friggin' sliding window. Here comes the new packet, all covered up with present paper and a bow. I bite my tongue and try to think of... of my stomach that's convulsing inside of me, almost coming out through my belly button.

Finally, the document downloads. And there it lays, sitting in my desktop. A smile of... of what? Joy? Horror? Nervousness? Love? Fear? Maybe all of them mixed up together, compressed, waiting to come out with a bang. *BANG* So I close my eyes and double click the document... hum... no hard drive noise... no movement... crap, I missed the icon when I closed my eyes. I carefully position the pointer right in the middle of it... and... close my eyes again... click... click... I open my eyes and there it is in my BenQ FP767v2 17" Monitor with its stunning fast 16ms response time, the judge's veredict: the finalists.

I'm in it.

And right about that moment I realize that I have not been breathing. My brain yells at me "Give me some oxygen or you'll pass out, bump your head, have a concussion and when you wake up amnesia will have puts its sweet arms around you." So what do I do? I yell out in happyness: "Hell poopie yeah!"

And then breathe.

Further up in the day, I slept in my theater class. Got more congratulations and the such. Until late at night we go to dinner at Bennigan's. Ooooo... a sweet carbohydrate, fat charged but tasty Monte Cristo awaits for me (and still waits, as 1/4 of it still resides in my fridge). Few things in the world make me remember there is a God and that sometimes he smiles and gives us mere mortals much joys in the world such as the Monte Cristo.

Next day I woke up with diarrhea... bet you did not want to know that. I do not blame it on the Monte Cristo though, but on the squishy sandwich I ate before that at the school cafeteria. And even if it had been the Monte Cristo, then those thirty or so minutes lost in the bathroom are more than a fair price for such pleasure the Monte Cristo gives my frail and mortal body.

Tomorrow, Friday April 1st, is the Monologue Contest Finals. Many people ask me if I'm going to participate in it. I so eloquently answer: "No, I'm not going to participate in it. I'm going to win it."

And by the jolly good bollocks of Mr. Monkey Pants in the back a van down by the river, I will!

This is big

Okay... the Monologue Contest eliminations start in one hour 15 minutes. Even so, my turn is not up until 3 hours and 25 minutes.

Something big happens... something that had never happened before... I'm nervous.

Never, ever in my whole time as an actor, in all 11 plays I have been in have I ever felt nervousness like this. Only a small tingle in my stomach just as I walk to the stage... but never before. Not once had I felt my stomach crunch up and wiggle...

Well, I'm off. I'm going to relax my mind. Later I will tell you how it all went.

Long long vacations

I must apologize to my Ol' Three Faithful Readers, but it seems I took some very long vacations. Actually, if I must be 100% honest, I got somewhat lazy. There's a point somewhere around 11pm in which my brain goes to complete shut-down mode.

Anyway, many things have happened. From one day The Powers That Be loving me too much and having classes canceled, to me yelling at some dude in a take-out restaurant because here in Mexico customer service is non-existant. Then what we know as Holy Week in Mexico, known in the US as Spring Break. The only difference is that Holy Week/Spring Break is always at the same time as Easter, whereas in the US Spring Brake varies over time.

So I went back home, considering home as the place where I grew up, my house, where my family waits for me and 6 Chihuahua dogs wait anxiously for me. We must remember they say "Home is where the heart is"... I don't know where my heart is right now.

The point is this I spent this whole week doing nothing. Though I took Daisy (my laptop. Yes, I put names to my things. Some say this might be a psychological problem regarding my feeling of posession over things... dunno); I took Daisy back home because I wanted to work on some school proyects. Ask me if I turned my computer on. C'mon, do it. Humor me, please... well, yeah, I did turn it on because I actually format it and had to listen to my music at some point, but I did nothing regarding school. I just relaxed. Took some time off, shut down body and mind. Rest.

Well, it did not work.

Some would argue that I should feel refreshed, with energy. Or at least happy of going back home and seeing familiar ground. Funny thing is, it is not familiar ground anymore. I remember when some friends left the city to study somewhere else back in the days; and later they spoke of how much they hated coming back home because they felt like visitors, intruders rather than... well... home. This had never happened to me; my family is kind enough to leave my room exactly as I leave it, not one speck of dust is moved.

But it is the other things. After two years out of my home town... or... home city, I come back and I don't recognize my friends. I sit there with them, and hear them talking about people I don't know, about event's that apparently are very funny to remember but I just stare blankly past them because, suprise, I was not there when it happened. Others still have all the comforts of living-at-home luxuries that I do not get anymore. In summary: their lives took twists and turns in which I was not part of. It leaves me feeling like a stranger. And before I get there, they tell me how much they miss me, how much they wish I had never left, how much they want to see me. Suddenly I arrive, and people do not call. People do not visit. If I do not explicitly call them up, they would barely know I was there. I think the only being that did truly miss me, that awaits my return each and every time I leave my house is The Queen. Who is the Queen? She's the elder of my Chihuahuas. As soon as the door opened she rushed inside and greeted me, barely parting from my arms all week long.

Of all the 9 days I spent back home only one did I truly, wholeheartly enjoy. Last Friday, Good Friday. Now, please do not ask me the logic behind spending Good Friday watching B-Horror Movies, but we did just that. Yet that is besides the point. The point is that on that dayI felt truly missed, really had contact with another human being. Someone made my whole day... no... she did my whole week... no... hell, maybe she did my whole semester in as few moments as it takes to do one single, gentle gesture . As we sat seeing movies, I began to toy with her hair, and she me back. We held.

Dissi, truly from the depts of my heart: Thank you.

After that I wanted to come back to my Four Wall and a Ceiling. Back to study, back to the monotony of school, back to my proyects, my obnoxious rommy. And here I am, proyects awaiting, tomorrow the semifinals of a monologue contest, a play two weeks from now and other two plays 5 feeks ahead. Parcial exams in about two weeks...

I need vacations.

Disposable Life

Welcome back Ol' Three Faithful Readers. I have something amazing, extraordinaire and rare to tell you; a story which I will call "Thirteen Hours." This story will be posted in the last paragraph of this post because first I have other stuff to nag about.

On sunday, the God of Lighting and me discovered that my car had a flat tire. Actually, it was the pizza delivery guy who found out but was kind enough to let me know. Let me tell you, it was flat, all the way down. Promply, God of Lighting and me took the car to the nearest gas station and pumped some air into the tire. Man, it has the mother of all holes somewhere because at a full 50cm. away from it you can hear the *swoooooosh* of air hissing its way out of the tire. After that we still went to the dinner with the play's people and all. Yesterday I phoned my dad to let him know of the problem, and of the solution: Change all tires! Hahahaha. Aaaaa, the amazing wonders of the american way of life: "Everything's disposable." So I'm going today to get some new tires for the good ol' Buddymobile.

I must admit that although I was born in México, living in the border and with my californian father, my mindset has always been of an American. I cannot help it but see the world through the eyes of the american way of life. But fellow mexican friends do not dispair, I also believe that in rare, isolated moments the mexican spirit in me shows its head; which allows me to amalgam what I think are the best elements of both worlds creating a richer sense of self... uh... or maybe I'm mostly American and this is me trying to convince you not to hate me, hahaha!

As you can be guessing, I will from now on reffer to some recurring charactes in my posts by the nicknames I've assigned them. Little by little I will introduce them; for today, meet the God of Lighting, The Powers That Be and My Four Walls.

• God of Lighting: A friend who lately has spent a lot of time in illumination chores at the theater. We have established that one of the most important roles in a play is the lighting technician, or else you would end up with a dark and gloomy play. He owns you. Respect him.
• The Powers That Be: The Man. The Almighty. The One Above. God. It doesn't matter by what name you call Him, He's up there watching and listening.
• My Four Walls: My room in the school's residences.
  

And now, to the enjoyment of my Ol' Three Faithful Readers I present to you the story aptly titled "Thirteen Hours." Yesterday I found out my 18:00 to 21:00 class was canceled which overjoyed everyone. I blessed the Powers That Be and went to My Four Walls. I decided it was time to sort out my MP3 collection, read a little and sleep. Well, I began by ripping all my new Ayreon, Les Luthiers and Frank Zappa CDs (Yeah, I do buy the CDs :D) as well as some others I had forgotten to rip. I grabbed a good bood so magnificently called "365 Short Horror Stories" (if you cannot figure out the purpose of this book, I will personally go and pull your legs while you sleep) and suddenly: blackness. Everything went out of focus, the book fell on my chest and Winamp roared in the background. At around 18:30 I fell asleep; dreaming of mystical worlds, crazy people, odd situations and Adelitas. Only to wake up at 9:00 the next day. I slept around 13 straight hours! Wohooo! I really needed that. Now I feel renewed, young and energetic.

And sexier too!